Page 24 of Royal Desire

I pinch the bridge of my nose. We’ve been here for two hours. The emergency room doctor is friends with Grandma’s general practitioner and gave her a call after Grandma was stable.

Her GP told the ER doctor that Grandma had been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes a couple months ago. Grandma is supposed to be on a strict diet, monitor her blood sugar, and maintain an entire course of medications she was prescribed. She even has a nutritionist.

When Blake and I heard this news, our jaws dropped to the floor.

Our grandmother lives on sweet tea, Mountain Dew, and those little butter cookies you buy in a tin at the drug store—the ones that come in all shapes and sizes, but they all taste the same.

Why do they make those cookies in different shapes anyway?

I’ve only been back in Winslet for a week. Her love for soda lives strong in the refrigerator, and two new tins of cookies appeared on the counter before Blake and I left for the manor tonight. Grandma likes her meat breaded and considers french fries a vegetable in her own personal food pyramid.

I pull in a deep breath and pray for patience. I also soften my tone to try to calm the old woman who proves she gives no shits about how she speaks to anyone. “Why didn’t you tell us you were diagnosed with diabetes? We could’ve helped you with your meds and your diet.”

Grandma’s coloring has returned to normal, and aside from the gash on the side of her head and her hair sitting askew, she looks almost like her normal self. What isn’t normal for her is embarrassment. I can’t remember anything she’s ever been apologetic for. But not tonight.

She stares at her hands as she twists her fingers in her lap as she speaks. “I might have taken some extra meds tonight hoping it would offset my treats. I’ve been trying—really, I have. And I didn’t want to bother you kids with my issues.” She pulls in such a deep breath, her shoulders rise and slump with more drama than a romance novel. “But sometimes I just need my cookies, okay? And tonight was one of those nights. I ate the cookies with a Mountain Dew. I don’t regret a thing. I ate them while watching my shows. I figured some extra meds would offset the sugar.”

The doctor stands at the end of her gurney with her arms crossed. “That explains why your levels dropped even after all your treats. That’s not the way the meds work, Ms. Sinclair.”

“Yes, I understand that ... now,” Grandma rattles off. “I won’t do it again. Are you happy?”

The doctor taps away on her tablet. “It doesn’t matter if I’m happy. Everyone wants you to be healthy. I want one more glucose test to make sure you’re safe to go home. Butterfly bandages will be fine on that laceration, so you don’t need stitches—as long as you follow directions and don’t remove them until they fall off on their own. And I want you to promise you’ll stick to the diet your nutritionist gave you and do not self-medicate outside of the prescribed doses.”

Grandma rolls her eyes. “I’ll try to do better.”

“She will do better,” I amend.

“We’ll help.” Blake wraps an arm around Grandma’s shoulders. He’s always had a softer way about him than the rest of the Sinclairs. At least Mom had the decency to not give us our respective fathers last names. It’s not like either one did anything for us. “You have to, Grandma. We need you around for a long, long time.”

Grandma pats his hand. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re stuck with me for good.”

“If your glucose comes back in a safe range, we’ll let you go home tonight. I want you to follow up with your doctor on Monday.”

“Thank you. We’ll make sure that happens.” I glance at my watch. It’s two in the morning. I’m exhausted. I’m not sure how Grandma is functioning right now. I stand and yank the short dress I’m still wearing down my thighs. I went all out tonight in a red bodycon. What I wouldn’t do for my favorite ratty pajamas right now. I grabbed the first pair of shoes I saw before we left for the hospital. I’m quite the sight in my dress and Crocs. “I’m going to run to the bathroom while you do that test.”

Blake doesn’t move from Grandma’s side. “I’ll stay with her.”

Grandma harrumphs and complains to the room at large. “Now they’re gonna hover. Just what I need.”

She’s damn right we are, but I don’t tell her so. It will only make it worse. The moment we get home, I’m pouring the Mountain Dew down the drain, and the cookies are going into witness protection. She can have one a day. I’m not sure how we’ll keep her from buying more, but that’s a problem for tomorrow after we’ve all gotten some sleep.

When I’m on my way back from the bathroom, I almost jump out of my skin when I hear him.

“How is Alice?”

My comfy shoes squeak on the sterile floor when I spin. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”

Payne doesn’t move a muscle from where he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I was too distracted by Grandma passed out on the floor and bleeding from the head to take him in earlier. He’s not wearing one stick of the Winslet Fire Department uniform like the other guys. He’s in a black T-shirt that fits his wide chest much too well and a pair of gray sweatpants.

Lord help me.

He narrows his eyes on me and tips his head a fraction. “I hardly snuck up on you. I’ve been standing here for almost an hour. When did you become so jumpy?”

I take a step back to put some space between us. “I’m not jumpy. I didn’t see you standing there. Why are you still here?”

“I wanted to make sure Alice is okay. Despite the fact that she hates me, I do care about her.” His arms fall to his sides as he cuts the distance between us. I tip my head back to look up at him the closer he gets when what I really want to do is run back to Grandma’s room. “And I want to know why you’re back. Don’t think about giving me some shit story about being closer to your family. If that were the case, you wouldn’t have stayed away so long in the first place.”

Despite my exhaustion that has nothing to do with being on my feet all day, working two jobs, or singing for three nights straight, my heart speeds. My emotions were tattered before we found Grandma passed out. I’m downright spent. More than anything, I hate that Payne is right—I am jumpy. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for far too long.